Lost Pine
by Trefoil-underscore
Summary: Lost Pine has fallen to the corruption and all are fleeing the area-except for these two idiots called Steve and Herobrine, who are intentionally travelling to Lost Pine. Because someone owes them money and he's not going to get out of it just by turning into a zombie, Notch dammit.
1. Leaves in the Wind

"It's a beautiful day," said Steve.

"What do you mean by that?"

Well, he was sitting on a hill with the sun warm on his back, wind in his hair and cooling the sweat on his neck. There was a dry sleepy sound of leaves stirring on the trees downhill from his spot. The sun's radiating power, which was death to the undead, seemed to hold him in a warm embrace.

"The sun is an impassive ball of fire spinning around in the void," said Herobrine. Steve opened his eyes and looked at his half-brother sprawled on his face next to him.  
"Doesn't keep you from enjoying a nice sunbathe, does it?" Herobrine said nothing. "Why do you have to be such a grouch lately, anyway?"  
"I'm not a grouch, I am a scientist."  
"Yikes!" gasped Steve mockingly, falling over into the grass. "Well, good luck. I also consider myself a scientist."  
"There are things you don't think about. That's wise. But also foolish." Steve squinted at him over the dandelions. "I am being slightly melodramatic."  
"Want a cookie?"  
"Yes." Steve dug around in his pack. "Er… I thought we had more than this."  
"Did you eat them all?"  
"Nearly." he held out a cookie. Herobrine broke off half of it.

They rested for another half-hour, then Herobrine stood and dusted himself off, carefully avoiding the bruises, and flicked a braid that had fallen over his forehead back into place. "Think you're ready?" Steve looked down at the trees. Darkness hung under the tangled branches. He thought he could see movement.  
"Yeah." he stood slowly, testing his weight. His left pants leg was bloodied and a fresh bandage showed through a tear above the knee.  
"Sure you'll be able to walk alright?"  
"Yeah, it's not serious."  
"It better not be." Herobrine liked to complain about the slowness of decoding the lost knowledge of his family's wizards and the fact that he supposedly didn't know any "safe" offensive magic, but when Steve had been whacked from behind by a zombie carrying a shovel he had done something that sent its head flying through the air. Steve was pretty sure he saw it come down in a clearing fifty feet away, in pieces, smoking. Herobrine had seemed even more startled about this than Steve, so he hadn't asked about it. "Lean on this," said Herobrine, picking up the staff that had lain in the grass near him. Steve held it warily. "It doesn't bite, Steve."  
"I know." Herobrine had been holding it after the strange event involving the zombie. Neither of them knew who it had belonged to, which was another reason Steve didn't trust it. Several months before, Herobrine had found it standing in an outbuilding, dull with dust but in good condition underneath, and decided to adopt it for himself. He thought it was a family relic of some sort. But he also thought that it "didn't like him." Which did not give Steve good feelings about using it like a walking stick. But then, he didn't have good feelings about being able to make it down the hill without falling on his face, either. He placed the end of the staff on the ground and leaned on it. Nothing terrible happened. They moved downhill, into the shaded light of the trees.

The sun had become too bright for zombies to safely walk even under the trees, and they had either retreated into caves or burned. The brothers passed a charred form lying at the bottom of the hill, and Herobrine stopped to kick the bones apart and spread all the tissues in the sun. Sometimes the burned zombies weren't quite dead enough and jumped up again at nightfall. He kicked the skull along in front of him through the leaves for quite some distance. He stopped, with a disgusted noise, when his foot sank through the tissue at the bottom of the jaw and stuck. "Doing alright, Steve?"  
"Yeah. It doesn't seem to mind me."  
"We need to stop acting like the stick has a brain. It'll get uppity."  
"I detect some things wrong with that sentence."  
"I detect some things wrong with your face."  
Steve sighed. "Ad hominem. Invalid."  
"Your face is invalid."

They had originally been heading for a safe house farther away over the hills, but they had lost time dealing with Steve's injury, and now were traveling more slowly. They changed direction and arrived at a farm in an open valley just as the western sky began to redden. But the fields were deserted and the house was strangely silent. When Herobrine rang the bell hanging by the door there was no response. "Do you think they're gone?"  
"Can't be, not permanently." Steve nodded at the cows standing placidly in a nearby pen. Herobrine's eyes narrowed.  
"He's got them penned. That's not usual for this time of year."  
"Well, he could be checking them for disease. Or perhaps he's going to sell some."  
"Huh." Herobrine rang again. A window shot up on the second floor and a bow and arrow appeared and then promptly disappeared.  
"Oh, it's you two! I thought something was chewing on the bell-pull again. I expect you're lost again?"  
"No, this time we intended to come this way," said Herobrine, craning his head back. "Where is everyone?"  
"Gone. We're pulling out. I expect you've heard about Lost Pine?"  
"Someone said they were having trouble, but we didn't stay to hear the end of the story."  
"Completely overrun. I sent the wife and helpers away soon as I heard. Someone's coming up later in the week to buy the cattle, that's the only reason I'm waiting."  
"So you're leaving?" said Steve.  
"Yup. Can't sell seeds to zombies, and there's no room for us at Hiré, even if it weren't so damned hard to get to from here. We'll stay with my wife's family in the city for a while."  
"I'm sorry," said Steve.  
The man shrugged. "Always thought it was going to happen, you know. I'm just surprised it didn't come earlier. And anyway, you've got a new safe house now. You want a cheese? I've got a cheese that didn't fit in the luggage and I'm not carrying it with me when I leave. Hold on, I'll let you in." he left the window and there was a clatter as he put down his weapons.  
"Well, now we know," said Herobrine.  
"I'm going to miss them."  
"Me too."  
"So—what are we going to do now? He'll be dead, or gone." Herobrine looked at him.  
"There is a third option."  
They were interrupted by the door opening.

 **A/N: So I didn't realize there was a National Brother's Day, but apparently it was yesterday, so I decided to finish this chapter up as a (late) tribute. Hey look, it's human!Steve and Brine having adventures together!**


	2. Riddles from the Past

_From houses four great wisdom fell  
Who from dark ages comes to tell?_

 _They harnessed the darkness that pumps a dead heart,  
They fell to the darkness and to the rot. _

_Seeking the secrets of life hidden, failing, or else to be cut off with victory,  
Challengers of immortal Decay, these were swallowed by the sea. _

_They twisted the roots to forms of their own,  
Gently the roots twine across their dry bones. _

_In the name of peace they called down flame  
And banished peace from all of their name. _

_Under the stars or under the sea, houses four in silence lie  
Choose well, child, to enter—or to fly. _

_For surest of heirlooms, death comes to all,  
Our common winding of dust and pall. _

_From houses four the shadows flit  
Across dead ages, and by watch-candles sit._

"What?" said Steve. Herobrine jumped. "Sorry. I just came downstairs and you were mumbling to yourself."  
"It's an old rhyme I found copied down in our library. Supposedly one of the verses is about our family. The problem is that after all this time I'm not sure which one it is, and it's bothering me."  
"Can I hear it?"  
"Sure. Maybe another perspective will help." Herobrine recited the rhyme, watching with amusement at the growing alarm and perplexity in Steve's face.  
"Um. That's pretty messed up."  
"No ideas?"  
"Nope, nothing. You're the history buff here."  
"Pff, I'm only a dabbler and you know it."  
"You know more than I do."  
"I disagree. I'm only interested in specific parts of our history, you look at it all."  
"But I don't remember dates."  
"Steve, very little of history is dates."  
"True. But it gets embarrassing if you think an event of the iron age happened in the golden age. Who wrote it though? Funny the only bad thing he could find to say about the alchemists was that they died. That's not so bad considering he mentions twice that you can't escape death."  
"You mean the fourth stanza? I think the point of that was how pointless their existence was. I'm glad you agree it refers to alchemists. That's one we can be certain of."  
"Is that the one that's supposed to be about us?"  
"I don't think so. There's some alchemy in our past, but very little compared to other families."  
"So… do you have any ideas?"  
"Alright, listen. The second one is out because it says they were swallowed by the sea. That'll be the house of Kieran. Darkmancers. They could summon and control zombies. The entire estate fell into the sea during an earthquake and the family drowned."  
"The first verse seems to be referring to darkmancers, though."  
"I know, that's what bothers me. If I had to guess, we'd be the fourth verse. It seems to be referring to generic functional magic and its less pleasant side effects."  
"Uh-huh." Steve put out his foot and caught the staff, which had been about to fall out of its corner. "You want some of this cheese?" he said, shoving the staff back into place without looking at it. "Let's talk about happy things." Herobrine looked with distaste at a bluish, crumbly object the size of a steer's head sitting on the table.  
"That rules out the cheese then. You can have it."  
"Good." Steve cut off another slice.

The ex-farmer had left the day before, having given them permission to use the house and leftover supplies until Steve was feeling ready to travel again. The brothers had spent some time discussing whether to continue to Lost Pine or go home, and had finally decided to wait for a while, giving the zombies time to disperse and Steve time to recover, and then go in, on the off chance that what they were looking for was still there. It wasn't something they could afford to lose without at least checking. So a few days later, they locked the door and left the key hanging from the doorknob, then started walking. Steve barely limped and leaned on the stick only in slippery places. Herobrine swung along with a faraway light in his hoarfrost-grey eyes, humming a tune and sometimes frowning. Now and then Steve caught muttered snatches of the rhyme. "Across dead ages… secrets of life hidden… what if—no, that still doesn't make sense..."  
"Why bother about it? It was a long time ago."  
"It was said the sibyls lived outside of time."  
"Wait, this is a sibylline prophecy? Why didn't you tell me?"  
Herobrine shrugged. "It could just be a fake—but it still shows remarkable foresight and thought."  
"True. Is there any historical evidence for the sibyls?"  
"Do you mean, believable historical evidence? There are plenty of folk stories."  
"Huh. That's the problem with history."  
"It's the problem with everything. You can't just take things at face value. But anyway, it was written before the fall of Kieran, so there's that, at least. It's a freak coincidence if nothing else and I'd like to know why."  
"You think there's a reason?"  
"I don't know." Herobrine walked deep in thought for a few seconds, but was distracted by a crunching sound and a delicious smell. He looked up and found Steve meditatively munching on a roll. "How many of those have you got?"  
"Oh, you want one?" Steve dug a slightly squashed roll out of a pocket, picked off a piece of lint and offered it to Herobrine, who shook his head.  
"Are your pockets full of rolls?"  
"Mostly. Less full than they were, I've been eating them." he'd made a batch before they left the farmhouse with some leftover flour. Herobrine sighed.  
"Steve, you're ridiculous."  
"Am I?" Steve looked apologetically at him, crumbs in his chin stubble. Herobrine dusted him off.  
"Yes, yes you are. Don't ever change."

 **A/N: Seriously Herobrine, can't you go for two chapters without being creepy?  
Back when I was beginning this, I for some reason decided that I would go with a "vanitas" theme, so if you want to google that and be looking out for possible vanitas symbols I'm trying to sneakily cram them in wherever I can. So far we've got dead leaves and a skull. And, y'know, Death being mentioned every five minutes, but that's a given in this world.  
Also. Kieran is the diminutive of Ciar, Irish for 'black.' Darkmancers. Kieran. Little dark ones. Funny thing is, I did not know this. I just randomly thought "Kieran is a good name, I'll throw that in and check what it means later." Of course, I probably already knew what it meant but just didn't remember. Thank you, subconscious, you're startled me yet again…**


	3. Safe Place

Safe places were scattered all through the wilderness, if you knew where to look. Few were actual houses. This one was a small platform high in the trees, made of smooth branches lashed together. A rope ladder could be rolled up to avoid undead interruption during the night, and the tree stood by itself in a clearing, so there were no tree spiders—they liked the deep woods, where trees tangled together and it was hard for anything but a spider to move through the upper branches. The one drawback was that it was, of course, a wooden platform in a tree: so no fire, and lots of drafts. It hadn't been a problem early in the night, but by predawn the brothers were sitting huddled together against the tree trunk, trying to keep warm. Both were wide awake, but there was no question of leaving. The dawn was visible only as the faintest of coral glows in the east, and there were rustlings and growls from the underbrush. Steve was melancholy. He had eaten his last roll the night before and they were down to the sort of dried provisions that took a week of chewing before they could be considered edible. Herobrine, who was more bothered by the cold, was trying to distract both of them with conversation.  
"It started in the golden age, I think. Braided hair was the mark of a warrior, and each house had its own special type of braid. You could tell someone's allegiance and heredity by looking at the different braids in their hair."  
"We don't do that anymore."  
"Nah. Some of the types of braid have been lost entirely, nobody remembers how to make them. A lot of knowledge has been lost."  
"Well, when you're struggling just to survive, you're going to drop some things that aren't necessary, and sometimes beautiful things are lost that way."  
"I know about that but a lot of the knowledge of our house was intentionally destroyed. Good old pirates." He snorted.  
"Wait, pirates? I haven't heard this version of the story. I thought it was our grandparents."  
"It was. Ithaka has always been the home of pirates."  
"Brin. Our grandmother was not a pirate and you know that."  
"Wish she had been. She might have simply sold the family treasures instead of burning them."  
"Let it go. It was a long time ago. And I'm sure she thought she was doing the right thing. After all, the rest of the family agreed with her at the time. Magic is anything but harmless."  
"Steve, she burned half of our library."  
"It was much less than half!"  
"Alright, she locked up half of it—"  
"And our father promptly unlocked it."  
"Oh, right, she just burned the _interesting_ parts."  
Steve said nothing. Lately he had been mildly concerned about the things which Herobrine considered 'interesting.' Only mildly—he had an ingrained idea that Herobrine always had more sense than Steve did.

Their alliance with Ithaka had been unprecedented in history. They were one of the old houses of magic, allying with the island-dwellers, who were, stereotypically, either religious or pirates. (Some of the mainlanders couldn't decide which was scarier.) Natives of Ithaka were often taller than the nobility, but seemed unrelated to the testificates: grey-eyed, bearded, with hair cropped short; whereas the numerous mainland-dwelling testificates were green-eyed and bald, or nearly bald with silvery down on their heads. Herobrine had inherited the grey eyes brought into the family by their grandmother, Steve seemed to have picked up the hairstyle.

They knew when the sunlight was bright enough to hurt zombies because the one standing at the base of the tree began snarling in pain. They waited for the sounds to stop before climbing down. Steve flexed his leg and held the staff out to Herobrine. "You want this back? I think I'll be alright without it."  
"You sure?"  
"Uh, yeah." he didn't feel right carrying it. Herobrine was the mage, not him. He passed it to his brother with a sense of relief, of a weight lifting.  
Herobrine hefted the stick in his hands, feeling again the vague but unsettling sensation of an alien presence. He shook it off and let the end of the staff drop to the ground. It was an inanimate object. It couldn't actually dislike him. "Right, let's go."

They had walked only a few yards when Herobrine disappeared.

Steve had been looking up into the trees, trying to place an especially musical burst of birdsong, when there was a scuffle and a sharp cry from in front of him. He looked down quickly and saw a hole torn through the underbrush, where a cave must have come too close to the surface. He could hear a muffled sound of shouting. Steve ran to the hole and dropped in, almost without looking. He landed on a heap of collapsed brush and topsoil and scrambled up, pressing his back against Herobrine's. "Creeper," said Herobrine shortly, staff pointed into a dark corner. "Haven't seen it yet, but I can hear it. So far I've been able to keep it from coming forward." so the staff was cooperating for the moment, at least. Steve strung his bow and put an arrow to the string, black pupils dilating as he scanned the cave. "Anything else around?"  
"Not yet." they could both hear zombies from around the bend. Steve aimed at the creeper.  
"It's going to move as soon as you shoot it," said Herobrine. "Shoot quick."  
"I'll try." Sometimes creepers could explode with one or even two arrows stuck in them. He drew the sting all the way back before releasing, and the arrow ripped through the fragile, gourd-like green body and stuck in the earth wall behind it. The creeper swelled with a hiss. Herobrine dropped the staff and threw his hands up, shielding his face. Steve grabbed Herobrine and pulled him backwards. The next few moments were an incoherent rain of dirt. When it cleared, they were lying in loose dirt with a deep concavity in the wall in front of them and clear sky above. The staff had somehow landed in the loose earth near Herobrine's head and was standing there, perfectly upright. Muffled snarls came from behind them where the zombies had been trapped in the cave-in.  
"I think we should leave the stick," said Herobrine after a quick glance to make sure Steve was OK. Steve's eyes widened.  
"It's _right there!_ "  
"Steve, it's a stick, it… doesn't have ears…" but Herobrine looked suspiciously at said stick. "You have a point. It feels superstitious, but something funny is going on here and we need to keep the thing safe until we understand what. I'd better not touch it though. You carry it."  
"I don't want it either!"  
"It likes you better."  
"It's a piece of wood! You keep telling me it can't think!"  
"I'm… still working on it." Herobrine stood and dusted himself off, then pulled Steve's arm. Steve half-rose and then crumpled with a gasp. His healing foot was trapped under the remains of a large rotten log which had dropped onto them along with the dirt and underbrush. Herobrine stared, then kicked it away before turning to the staff standing in the dirt. "You utter jerk," he said.  
"What?"  
"You _need_ it now. Maybe it _can_ think."

 **A/N: "Stop that, you know our grandmother was NOT a pirate!" That's not something you hear every day.  
Also. ITHAKAAAA! These are my peeps. I love them. Also, if you think they're not coming back later, think again. Eheheheh. This is just their first introduction.  
I need to write an anthem for them so I can annoyingly shout it at people. Let's see—** ** _O Ithaka, O Ithaka, where it never snows and the sun never shines, O Ithaka we love your rocky shores! All nineteen hundred of your numbered square inches of arable land, every knife-edged crag of volcanic rock, we love to hear the waves crash on your shores from every side at once because you're so tiny…_** **Whoops, I did a parody. Parodies are easier than serious stuff. Um… I'll get back to you.**


	4. Sense of Humor

It took half of the day to work all the dirt out, and by that time they were in a part of the woods where the ground rose and fell sharply, sometimes forming short moss-covered cliffs. In the low places they sank over their ankles in a soft carpet of leaves. Their walking made a constant crashing in the brittle carpet. They worked their way up to high ground, where it was easier to move, but before long found themselves on a ridge with rough ground to their left and a stone wall to their right. "So this is where the old wall starts," said Herobrine. "Huh. Good to know." Steve said nothing. They hadn't come to Lost Pine exactly this way before. Herobrine had guessed that it would take less time to cut across here, but between Steve's slow pace and the significant possibility that they were getting lost, it was starting to look like a bad decision—especially since they'd been counting on reaching Lost Pine before night, so that they could clear out a house and barricade themselves in it for the night if necessary. This was a rather foolhardy decision, and it would be as good as suicide if they were caught by darkness at the edge of an infested town. "Come on," said Herobrine, looking at Steve. "You said you weren't really hurt."  
"I'm not, it's just stiff." Steve was trying not to lean on the staff any more than necessary. He didn't trust it. They came to the top of a rise and Herobrine threw his bag down with a disgusted noise. Up ahead, the wall stood flush with the edge of the tallest and steepest cliff yet.  
"Fun. I guess we're heading down." Steve nodded, looking along the slope next to them.  
"This looks good." he inched onto the slope and let himself slide in a shower of leaves to an even place, stopping himself with a foot on a large dead branch. He pulled himself up with the staff and inched along the branch, looking for an easy way down to level ground. Finding some rocks he tested them and then gingerly stepped onto them and started down. Herobrine slid down behind him.  
"Careful, those look loose."  
"Everything's loose," said Steve, wavering as he set off another leaf-and-dirt avalanche. He tapped the next rock with the staff. "Safe?" nothing. "You better not be playing with me." he stepped on the rock. It promptly flipped over, depositing all of his weight on his hurt foot.

Herobrine watched him slide downhill with a sense of inevitability.

He waited for rocks and leaves to quit sliding before he followed, half-running half-crouching, not giving the ground time to slip under him. Steve sat up and shook leaves out of his hair. "Why did I somehow expect that? And are you alright?"  
"Yeah. Uh—" Steve looked around suspiciously. The staff had disappeared. They started hunting through the deep, loose leaves. After a few minutes Herobrine was cursing under his breath. They had turned up a few potsherds, a rusty piece of unidentifiable weaponry, and a glass bead. "Ooh. This would look nice in your hair."  
"Knock it off, Steve."  
"It would."  
"Maybe later, when we're not about to die!"  
"Calm down."  
"Why? It's getting late, we don't know where we're staying tonight, and we can't leave without the damned thing because it's dangerous! I'm not going to leave it by itself out here for a witch to pick up!" Steve froze, blinking.  
"Hey."  
"What?" Steve straightened up, stretched his neck, and started walking away.  
"This is dumb. Let's just leave it."  
"What? No, we can't. It's dangerous and I want to figure out—"  
"We're leaving it!" shouted Steve over his shoulder. "I'm sick and tired of the thing. It's weird, it's creepy, and I get the feeling that it's trying to get us killed. You can stay here alone all day digging through the leaves if you want but I am—" he tripped on a buried object and fell with his face in the leaves. "Leaving." he reached back and grabbed the object lodged against his foot. "There you are." Herobrine gaped. Steve pulled himself up with the staff and gave it a tap against the forest floor. "I don't like your sense of humor."  
"What… what just…"  
"It knew we weren't going to leave it, so it decided to be silly about it. Listen, you, we're a bit pressed for time. Stop it or I really will leave you." Steve looked back. "Are you coming? The sun's getting low."  
"…Yeah." maybe the staff had had some sense about its preferred handler. Steve seemed to know how to manage it. But the longer they kept the thing, the more it disturbed Herobrine. He didn't care how magical it was, a piece of wood simply couldn't act like that.

Not that the staff cared what he thought.

 **A/N: So I'm finally writing again. The past few days I've planned on it and then invariably ended up on YouTube instead… I am terrible.  
Also the vanitas theme is going nowhere in the last few chapters and I feel stupid for mentioning it when I did. Sorry. I do have plans for that. **


	5. The Dead Swordsman

Steve finished wrapping the braid end in gold thread and released it, smiling proudly at the glass bead which gleamed among the dark strands of hair. "Are you done?" asked Herobrine.  
"Yup."  
He leaned back against the tree trunk with a heavy sigh. "Well, that's nice. I'll at least look pretty when I die."  
Steve also settled against the tree trunk. They had lashed themselves to the branches of a large tree, Steve a few feet higher than Herobrine, and Steve had wedged the staff under a few loops of his rope. It was, naturally, an easy way to keep it from falling, but it also gave Herobrine the impression that Steve wanted it tied down. Both brothers relaxed and tried to fall asleep. A zombie came and scrabbled at the base of the tree, groaning hungrily. "This will be a long night," muttered Herobrine. Steve yawned in response.

They climbed down the next morning and walked to the edge of the trees. The town of Lost Pine stretched out below them, a cluster of lumpish buildings huddling together inside a wall. The wall was thrown down in several places and the streets were empty except for a few smoking corpses. They looked at each other. "Ready?" said Steve.  
"Much as I will be. Let's see what there is." they started down.

The plains around the town were dotted with apple trees, spaced widely enough to give zombies no cover. The grass was trimmed short but fallen apples were lying in it untouched, some rotten, some edible. Steve looked longingly at these as they passed. They climbed over a fallen section of wall and stood eyeing the dead streets. "Alright," said Herobrine quietly. "We're heading for the fortress." the taller structure was separated from them by a maze of deserted streets and possibly, hopefully, empty buildings. They started walking. A courtyard stood open with its gate lying on the ground, the silver sundial untouched on a carved pedestal. They ignored it as well. It was too heavy to carry. Doubtless some scavenger would find it eventually.

They had almost reached their destination when a door swung open behind them. They spun. A zombie eyed them vacantly from the shadows. Herobrine ran towards it and Steve followed, drawing his sword. Perhaps if they could kill it quickly it wouldn't—

It did the screaming noise just before Herobrine could reach and behead it. Suddenly the town was alive with the sounds of zombies answering the hunting call. The first to appear were three fairly well-preserved ones which had been lingering inside the same house and now poured out of the back room and towards Herobrine, who backed out, holding out his hand. "Steve, throw me the staff." Steve threw it. It was a good throw, but Herobrine wasn't looking behind him, so it was understandable that when it turned in the air it conked him on the head. He fell down. Steve leapt forwards with a scream, but the staff fell across the house steps and the approaching zombies shied away from it. As Steve ran up Herobrine pushed himself up onto his knees and shook his head slowly, blinking. Steve leapt into the house and destroyed the zombies, none of which had weapons as such, although one did hurl a teapot in his general direction. It smashed on the wall with a smell of stale mint. Steve returned outside, where Herobrine was now standing, eyeing the staff distrustfully. Steve snatched up the staff and beat it hard against the doorframe. It sprang back with the tight snapping sound of wood barely holding itself together.  
"Don't you DARE do that again! I will grind you up and EAT you! DO YOU WANT TO BE HUMAN POOP? DO YOU? BEHAVE YOURSELF OR BY GOD I WILL END YOU!" he went back inside and beat it against the walls and floor for a while. When he came back out he was panting and the staff was chipped. "Here," he said, holding it out to Herobrine, who had been watching his outburst openmouthed. He backed away.  
"I, ah—you can keep it."  
"No, it'll work now." Steve tapped it threateningly on the ground. "Or else." he held it out. "Here."  
"Don't you need to lean on it?"  
"You're stalling. And not really, as long as we stay on level ground." Herobrine took the staff in his hands. A warm feeling traveled through his arms and down his spine. The staff hummed. He spun it in his hand and looked for something to test it on. He didn't have to look far.  
"OH GOD WHERE DID THEY ALL COME FROM?!"  
"Everywhere?"  
"Run!"  
"You run, I'll hop along and kill things as I go."  
"Look for someplace we can barricade ourselves in, they'll eventually lose interest." Herobrine struck a zombie in the chest with the end of the staff as he passed. It flew backwards and burst open with a concussion of air. "Now come on, that's just showing off." he struck another one, and it also exploded. "This is downright wrong on many levels of practical magic but just as long as you keep working I don't really care."

Steve limped along, stabbing zombies and checking buildings. Some had zombies in them, some had flimsy doors or doors that had already been beaten down, and some had too much glass. He passed a storefront where delicate instruments of copper and brass lay under smashed pieces of window, some of them still protected under bubbles of glass, some in several pieces. The store owner, who was still in residence, hadn't turned. He'd been pulled into too many pieces first, and there wasn't enough left of him. Steve paused when he reached a squat building with high slit windows. It looked empty. "Hero, in here!" the deep wet popping noises that signaled exploding zombies came closer. Steve rushed inside, gave the interior a quick scan for zombies, and half-closed the door. A moment later Herobrine rushed in and Steve slammed it and leaned against it. "Seal it!" he said, and Herobrine raised the staff, then hesitated.  
"It wants to keep exploding things."  
"Well that's too bad, because we want to live. It'll just have to restrain itself."  
Herobrine pressed the staff into the door and felt a surge of power. It normally took him several minutes at least to seal a door, and often they'd had to give up and fight off the zombies beating it down before he finished. This time it took seconds. He stepped back with a sigh of relief and only then registered where they were.  
"Steve."  
"Yes?"  
"Out of all the buildings we could have hidden in, you picked this one?"  
"It's safe."  
"It stinks."  
"Stop whining. It'll be convenient if you need to pee before we can leave." Steve sat down on the edge of one of the cleaner-looking toilets, took out a book and started reading. A green arm suddenly protruded from another toilet and flopped around, grabbing at the air.  
"I'm not going to ask how you got down there," said Herobrine, raising his staff.  
"He probably jumped, thinking it'd be safe." Herobrine jabbed into the toilet. There was a muffled exploding noise. Herobrine looked at the staff and groaned.  
"This is so very, very wrong."

Several hours later Steve was still reading and Herobrine was standing on one of the toilets with his face pressed to the window, watching the zombie activity and getting a breath of fresh air. It was almost clear. All at once Herobrine hissed. "Steve! Get up here!" Steve closed the book and clambered up next to him, craning to see. A zombie had wandered into view just outside, dressed in heavy armor that shielded it from the sun. The thin flames that licked at it now and then didn't seem to bother it. It held a diamond sword, the edges of the blue blade glinting violet with enchantment. "Great," breathed Herobrine. "That's just great. He had to take it with him. That's whatshisname himself, isn't it? The guy we lent it to?"  
"Lord Yupa."  
Herobrine cursed quietly. The brothers looked at each other. "Do we go out?"  
"We've come all this way. And it seems fairly quiet, at the moment. I can run if I need to." Herobrine sighed and glared down at the armored zombie.  
"Well, this'll be one we tell stories about."

 **A/N: Well this update certainly took its sweet time as well. But lookit! Things are actually happening!  
Also, this was SHOVE IN ALL THE VANITAS SYMBOLISM chapter. Have fun.  
Lord Yupa was a random throwaway reference. Internet-cookies for anyone who gets it (without first enlisting the aid of Google.) **


	6. It's Jammed

"I can kill it. I'll need you to keep the others away."  
"Steve, I'm a better swordsman."  
"Haha. Only for show. Besides, you don't use swords."  
"You can't see out there!"  
"I can see well enough to fight zombies. I've been doing it for years. And we need to decide on something before it wanders away and we lose it."  
"Alright, if I can't kill it quickly, you fight it and I'll cover you." Herobrine tapped the staff against the wall. "You better be hearing this. And absorbing the fact that Steve doesn't have armor and that thing does."  
"I'll be fine." Steve drew his sword and tested the balance, then made a few quick steps, testing his foot. Herobrine unsealed the door and peeked out, cheek pressed against the rough stone. The street was deserted for as far as he could see except for sunlight and dust. "Clear?" In answer Herobrine squeezed outside and ran around the building. If he could get in a solid hit before zombie-Yupa noticed him, they might end this and be able to get out before night. No such luck, however. The huge, flame-wreathed figure turned quickly to face him, and the sword flashed up in a streak of violet. He'd have to get past that. They sparred, zombie-Yupa snarling loudly. Another zombie stumbled out of a door down the street and loped towards the noise. Herobrine backed up and shot a ranged spell at zombie-Yupa, who blocked it almost absently with a swish of the enchanted blade. Herobrine swore loudly and went back to sparring. The blade clipped the end of the staff, jolting it in his hands. A chip of wood spun into the air. Herobrine had a brief intuition of fear and discomfort and knew that _he must not let it break_. Steve was shouting at him. He ignored him. He just needed a hit. He was backing up, letting the zombie follow him, leading it on. Sooner or later he'd have the opening he'd need.

The back of his foot hit the curb unexpectedly. He dropped and rolled forwards as the sword clashed down on the stone behind him. As he spun past the zombie he stabbed upwards with the end of the staff and touched the zombie's chestplate. There was a deep cracking sound. He jumped up, looking behind him. The chestplate was cracked open, but the zombie was unhurt. It started towards him. Herobrine raised the staff, just as Steve jumped between them.  
"Herobrine, they're swarming! Cover me!"  
"What!" Steve ignored him. Herobrine, looking up, noticed that they were surrounded by less lethal zombies, burning in the sun but pressing forwards even as they burned. Herobrine turned to batting away the closer ones. "Get into the courtyard if you can," he shouted. It would be more open. Less likely to have things to trip over. And there should be fewer zombies. He could hold off the ones from the village at the gate. Steve began leading the zombie swordsman towards the fortress, and Herobrine cleared the way in front of him. More and more zombies were pouring out to join in the battle. How many could there be? Lost Pine wasn't the largest town, and only so many could have come from elsewhere and survived this long. The street was littered with burning corpses. But they kept coming. The humans reached the courtyard just as Herobrine was afraid they would be overwhelmed, and he ran in first and picked off several zombies which had been lounging in shady corners. Steve and zombie-Yupa crashed in a moment later, and seeing that the gate was in working condition, Herobrine swung it shut and locked it behind them. A zombie in light armor ran out of the fortress and he intercepted it, flinging it to one side. It caught fire in the full sun and fell limp to the stones. Steve was doing well, Herobrine saw, and if the zombie had had only human endurance it would have been dead some time before. But it could keep going while it was full of holes and trailing black ichor. Herobrine looked down, noticing a thin line on the ground. He followed it with his eyes to where it disappeared down some steps. Oh. It was a fuse. He remembered now. The people of Lost Pine had been planning for this. In the event that the town was completely overrun, they had planned to blow it up. "Good planning," he muttered. He tugged at the fuse, wondering if he should cut it. Kind of dangerous to leave it lying around like…. why did it feel so loose? He tugged harder and it slithered towards him in a distinctly unconnected fashion. He looked towards the end, where it disappeared down the steps, and realized that he could no longer see the top of the fuse. A flicker of flame was traveling down the piece he held towards his hand. He stared in disbelief for several seconds before realizing what had happened. The zombie he'd tossed aside had landed with its burning hand across the fuse. "STEEEEEVE!" he raced for the gate, mentally cursing himself for shutting themselves up in a narrow place like this.  
"What?!"  
"Run! Just run!" he threw the gate open and waded through the zombies outside, striking left and right with the staff. Outside he looked over his shoulder. "Steve come on!" he came outside and Herobrine grabbed his arm and started running, dragging him along. Zombie-Yupa followed at an only marginally slower place, spattering the stones of the street with ichor and snarling furiously.  
"What?"  
"Things exploding! Run!" Steve looked behind him, then towards the nearest downed section of wall, several blocks away. A few seconds later the street rippled under their feet. They fell and rolled, and there was a crackle of falling stones behind them. They leapt up and kept going, knocking zombies out of the way. They were being followed by a green-skinned, fiery mob. Another explosion, this one farther away, rocked the ground as they neared the wall. This might have been encouraging, thought Herobrine, if he didn't know that the entire town was rigged to blow up and that their section, which had been fairly quiet so far, wouldn't stay that way for long. They reached the wall, Herobrine several bounds ahead. He waited for Steve and bundled him over before following. Zombie-Yupa snarled close behind him. They started to run through the apple trees. Suddenly the ground shook under them. For a moment everything was confused. Then, in a sudden moment of clarity, Herobrine registered that he was flying. Straight towards a tree. He swung the staff up. The tree exploded, and now he was flying through a rain of wood splinters and powdered bark. He hit the ground soon after and again everything was confused. When he stopped rolling he was a fair distance from the ruin of the city and Steve was nowhere in sight. He stood shakily, then dove down again as a piece of building thudded into the ground next to him. He scanned the sky carefully before he stood again. Clear. He jogged back towards the wall, which was now in even worse condition. A few final bits of rubble settled to ground as he ran. Steve, unlike him, had huddled in a depression in the ground at the beginning of the explosion and hadn't been carried off, although he was covered with dirt. He sat up and blinked around at the wreckage as Herobrine reached him. A final zombie stumbled burning out of the flattened city and fell in the remains of the wall. Zombie-Yupa was lying immobile and twisted in ways unnatural even for a zombie. "Are you OK?" said Herobrine. Steve gave him a vacant look.  
"Explosions."  
"Yes." There was another one, and they both ducked. It wasn't nearby. "They did a terrible job at timing. Should've made it so the whole place blew up at once."  
"Well they couldn't really test it out, could they?" said Steve, recovering somewhat. He stood, a bit weak at the knees, but apparently unhurt. "Hey!" Herobrine looked.

The enchanted sword was buried halfway to the hilt in a nearby apple tree. Steve tugged ineffectually at the hilt. "It's jammed."  
"Of course it's jammed. Step back." Herobrine struck the tree, shattering the section around the sword. The upper part of the trunk swayed back over them and he dragged Steve to one side, grabbing the sword with the other hand. Another explosion, this one close enough to bathe them in its dust as the cloud was carried downwind. They ran for the trees, stopping halfway up the rise and sitting to watch the clouds of dust and rubble kicked up from the city behind them.

 **A/N: I wonder how many story plots could be summed up as "Things exploding! Run!"  
ALSO HEROBRINE IS A JERK TO TREES! And so is the staff! I mean, it's wood itself, right? Traitor.  
Also, if you're confused as to why Steve can't see well in broad daylight and Herobrine can't see well in caves, well… short answer, there are two different types of human eye in the Overworld. More on that in The Mark Ch.2. **


	7. Splinters

They had had enough of shortcuts and left the scattered remains of Lost Pine at an angle, heading for a safe house instead of straight across the wilderness towards home. They reached it as dark was falling, a small but sturdy one-roomed affair with a fireplace. Herobrine was covered in splinters and bruises, which, although annoying, wouldn't kill him, but he was worried about Steve, who had stopped outside Lost Pine to cough up blood. He said he'd just been bruised by the force of the blast. Hopefully he was right, but regardless, they both needed a rest. Herobrine built a fire while Steve poked through their supplies.  
"Guess what we don't have?" Steve asked.  
"Decent food?"  
"That too. We didn't bring tweezers."  
"Oh joy."  
"I can probably get some of the larger ones out."  
"Please do." Herobrine sat near the fire and pulled his shirt off. Steve laughed.  
"You look like a hedgehog."  
"Only if hedgehogs are in constant discomfort from their skin. Start on my neck." Steve took two knives and carefully caught the end of a splinter between the blades. "How are you feeling?"  
"Me? Alright."  
"No more blood?"  
"Nah. If it was something serious I couldn't have walked all the way here."  
"I hope sAAA! What are you doing?!"  
"Pulling out splinters."  
"It feels like you're jamming them in deeper! Aah!"  
"Stop being a child, Herobrine."  
"It's not funny."  
"No, no. Not at all."  
"You're laughing." Steve said nothing, because he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Anyway, I've been thinking about that stick."  
"The staff?"  
"I'd still like to study it, but I think I'd better give it to you. It only makes sense." He pulled the staff towards him across the floor and offered it to Steve.  
"No."  
"No, what? It likes you."  
"But…"  
"Take it." Steve picked up the staff and looked at it.  
"You mean it?"  
"Yeah. It's yours now."  
"Good," said Steve, and jammed it up the chimney. Herobrine leapt to his feet.  
"AAAAAH WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"  
"You said it was mine. I can do what I want with it, right? Herobrine!"  
Herobrine threw the door open and bolted into the night. Steve ran after him, and after a short distance Herobrine stopped, panting.  
"You don't destroy magical objects right next to where you're going to sleep for the night! Especially ones like that! Who knows what it's going to do to us?!"  
"Nothing that that creeper won't do if it finds us with the door still open. Come on." Steve dragged him back inside.  
"This is why you're not a mage!"  
"Thank goodness."  
"You have short hair?" said a voice with an odd accent. "My God, what has Ithaka done to our family?" Steve and Herobrine froze. They looked at each other. Each, to the dismay of the other, looked equally confused. "No, I'm not going to kill you. Turn around."  
The staff had disappeared and a silver-haired man in steel colored robes sat in the flames. The firewood didn't seem affected by his weight. Firelight flickered across colored feathers tied into his hair. Herobrine cursed at length.  
"It was a soul jar. I should have known."  
"Yes you should, especially as you've doubtless heard of me before."  
"I wouldn't count on it. I certainly would have been more suspicious if I'd ever heard of a staff being used as a soul jar before."  
"Really? Alas, my fame has faded. I blame your grandmother. You're Herobrine and you're Steve, correct? Tsk. You'd make a team fit for legend yourselves if only you knew how to dress yourselves."  
"Wat," said Steve.  
"Excuse you," said Herobrine, "But coming from a guy in an ugly dress with dead bird bits in his hair, that's a bit much."  
"Excuse you," said the apparition, " _You're_ not wearing a shirt."  
"I'm covered in splinters!"  
"Ah. Tragic, I'm sure." He chuckled.  
"It's not funny!"  
"I disagree. You're completely wrong about the rhyme, by the way."  
"What?"  
"Kieran was the first house. If you knew as much history as you liked to think, you'd know that the heir survived the collapse of the house and was overcome by the darkness in a battle years later."  
"What."  
"It took twelve mages to bring him down."  
"What!"  
"I know, I know. Doubtless some information has been lost over time. But really, after all that complaining about your grandmother, did it never occur to you that defeat from the sea could be figurative?" Herobrine swore at his lack of intelligence, and Steve shushed him. "The fact that I'm speaking to you should be a reminder of what our mission has been through the ages. To stop death. Or at least to avoid some of its effects. Oh, just a word of advice, in case you decide to follow in my footsteps: binding yourself to an inanimate object is a bad idea. I nearly faded out of existence from sheer boredom before you came along. Don't do it." He stopped speaking, and the brothers stared at him. He coughed quietly. "Manners must have died along with fashion. I realize I must be an amazing sight, but surely you know better than to stare at a guest without speaking."  
"Sorry," said Steve. "What's your name?"  
"Hallai." He closed his eyes. "I won't stay for long, now that you've destroyed my last anchor. If you have any questions think of them quickly."  
"So you're dying now," said Steve. Hallai shrugged.  
"I've died before, but without release. Now I'm being released without death. At my death I was very afraid. I wasn't ready to go. I stayed, as you see me."  
"And you're ready now?" Hallai looked up at him with dread in his eyes.  
"..No."  
Steve came closer to the fire and knelt, bringing himself down to his eye level. "I'm so sorry."  
"Don't be. You didn't know what you were doing, and burning is an excellent way to deal with unwanted enchanted objects, assuming they're flammable. Don't listen to your brother."  
"Hey!" said Herobrine. Hallai smirked.  
"Besides, it's much better than haunting the interior of an unused outbuilding for another hundred years. I had almost forgotten the feel of wind when you found me. You took me on a walk. I got to kill some more zombies. I won't go unhappy."  
"Question," said Herobrine. "That's nice and all, but before you go, why did you like Steve better than me?"  
"Oh. No important reason. Perhaps I'm growing narrow-minded and grumpy in my very old age, but I've always been a prankster, and it upset my sensibilities to see the dynamic reversed. But I've grown fond of you as well, _arshenn_." He bowed his head. "Now tell me something. Have we gotten any closer?"  
"To what?" said Steve.  
"To a better solution than sealing one's consciousness inside a dead and immobile object. Or have you given up?"  
"Were you before Hericor's time?" asked Herobrine.  
"Hericor? That's an old name, but as I recall, he was a warrior, not a mage. Was there another one?"  
"Yes. Supposedly he discovered an elixir of immortality."  
"Really. What did he do with it?"  
"He burned his notes," said Steve, "Lived to be ninety and died peacefully in his bed, surrounded by his family."  
"Good for him. For a mage, that's quite an accomplishment by itself." He chuckled as if at an inside joke. Perhaps there was one, though the brothers didn't catch it.  
"You agree with him?" said Herobrine.  
"Oh I would have liked to know what it did, of course. But I admire his restraint. What were his reasons?"  
"He had guessed that it would cause sterility as a side effect, and wrote all this crap about how fathering children is a different kind of immortality and he didn't want to upset the balance of life and blah blah blah."  
"Herobrine also wishes we'd had a chance to see whether it worked," said Steve. "I do too, of course, but I also think Hericor made some interesting points."  
"You're more patient than me."  
"Well. Stay alive and you'll learn something new every day. I wonder—" Hallai flinched, and seemed to be listening. Steve noticed that he could see the stones of the chimney through Hallai's neck. Hallai looked back at them. "Good luck," he said, faintly. Then there were only flames.

 **A/N: Lookit! Things being resolved and stuff! There will be one more chapter after this.  
It must be extremely disorienting to be a stick for countless generations and then suddenly you're on fire and you can see again and shirtless Herobrine is screaming at you. Depending on how you feel about shirtless Herobrine, this might make you very happy or very dismayed to have regained normal methods of seeing at this point in time. **


	8. Back Home

The western sky was a blaze of color and stars showed in the east when two men rode into town on a red roan horse. The short-haired one sitting in back wore a heavy pack with the hilt of an ornate sword just visible.  
Lord Heron watched the two ride up to the front of the fortress. The one in front dismounted first and helped the other down. Lord Heron's eyes narrowed. They had been off having adventures together. He didn't like it when they went off and had adventures together. It smacked of friendship, and that he didn't approve of, not in these circumstances. Camaraderie was alright as long as they maintained a healthy rivalry, but they actually seemed to like each other, and that made him uncomfortable. Weren't those two supposed to hate each other? Someone ought to officially reinstate the tradition of duels, just so he could be certain where they stood. He went downstairs to the kitchen, where the one remaining maid whom he hadn't fired or scared away was mopping zombie blood off the floor. A half-dead spider the size of a small child was twitching in the garbage bucket. "Rough day, Kate?" she leapt up, brandishing the sharpened end of the mop handle.  
"Oh hello milord. Sorry. Yes."  
"For me too. An idiot and a mage just showed up on a stray horse, you'd better find some food."  
"Oh! Are they alright?"  
"Ask them." He turned and left. A few moments later Herobrine shouldered the door open and pulled Steve through, supporting him as we walked.  
"No I'm alright, honestly! I'm just having a little trouble breathing!"  
"That's not alright."  
"It's just bruising. It'll go away."  
"It better. Hey there, Kate. Jeb, what happened in here?"  
"Only the usual," she said.  
"Where's father?"  
"I don't know. He was in here a moment ago, but he left." Steve threw down his pack and unstrapped the sword, which was tied up in a blanket. Carefully he unwrapped it and laid it on the table. The blade was blue, translucent, and glinted faintly with light of a different color than the torchlight in the kitchen. "Oh! You've got it! Is that the sword I've heard about?"  
"Yep," said Steve, sinking back into his chair and closing his eyes.  
"Finally got it back," said Herobrine. "We've also got a half-starved horse minus the saddle, an extra blanket and a carved brooch."  
"Have you turned scavengers on us?"  
"Nearly. Almost ran out of supplies back there. We've also got some interesting plants Steve just couldn't leave alone." Steve woke up suddenly.  
"Plants!"  
"Yeah. I bet _Alex_ will be able to tell you what they are. —Watch him blush, now."  
"Oh, shut up."  
"Is there any food in the house, Kate?"  
"Surprisingly yes. I don't know when your father eats but he almost never talks to me about it. Give me a few minutes and I'll cook something up."

Lord Heron reappeared as they were finishing their meal. "Where have you been?" he asked, looking at Herobrine, who had his mouth full.  
"Lost Pine," said Steve.  
"Mmm. What doing?"  
"We got your sword back."  
"I can see that. Did I tell you to go to Lost Pine?"  
"You said that if the sword didn't turn up soon you might accuse Lord Yupa of stealing it," said Herobrine, swallowing. "We thought we'd go remind him it was just on lend. Halfway there we heard the news. I guess you know?"  
"That Lost Pine fell? Of course." Herobrine nodded and took another bite, thinking better of adding that it had also been flat when they left. "Why'd you keep going?"  
"Why not? It worked, obviously."  
"Don't talk with your mouth full."  
"Don't interrogate people who are trying to eat their first good meal in weeks."  
"Easy, son. Even if it was originally a good idea to visit Lost Pine, what made you think you had my permission to charge into an overrun city without backup, looking for a single sword?"  
"Steve is more than sufficient backup. And it worked out fine. Mostly. Steve's a bit beat up and I'm full of splinters but I think we'll both heal up eventually."  
"Get up." Herobrine stood reluctantly, not sure what to expect. Lord Heron stepped around the table and hugged him briefly. "Good work. But don't do it again." He picked up the sword and left without further comment.  
"That went well," said Steve, chewing. Herobring was still standing, eyebrows raised.  
"Huh. Didn't expect that. But it did."  
"Not really," said Kate, stamping on the spider, which had used the distraction of Lord Heron's entrance to crawl out of the bucket and towards the door. "He didn't hug Steve!"  
"Steve is supposed to not exist," said Steve, slathering butter on a slice of bread and stuffing half of it into his mouth. Kate hugged him.  
"Well, here's yours."  
"D'awwwwww," said Herobrine, leaning back in his chair.

As the last activity of the night, the brothers visited the library, and Herobrine consulted a dictionary. Steve napped in an armchair. He was awakened by Herobrine slamming the book shut with sudden violence. "What?"  
"He called me an asshat!"  
"Huh?"  
"Hallai. That weird word he used? He called me asshat in Laorian!"  
"I didn't know they had a word for that."  
"Everyone has a word for that." Herobrine snorted. "Here I was thinking he'd almost sounded affectionate."  
"You can call names affectionately, asshat."  
"Don't you dare start."  
"Oh, I wouldn't presume." Steve stretched, grinning. Herobrine turned and slid the book back into its place on the shelf with a sigh. Then he faced Steve, eyes narrowed in thought.  
"Wait, there's one more thing. What dynamic have we reversed?"  
"What?"  
"He said he was surprised at seeing the dynamic reversed. What did that mean?"  
"No idea. I was hoping you'd know. Anyway, I'm going to bed, before I lose the will to walk." Steve got up with a groan. Herobrine walked with him.  
"Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?"  
"Yeah. It's just bruising. I told you, I think I got a cut in the back of my mouth, and that's where the blood came from."  
"I can tell you're in pain."  
"Well I may have cracked a rib or two."  
"You never told me that!"  
"I could be wrong."  
"You didn't want me to be concerned about you. Well, listen, I'm not easily overwhelmed by compassion, you don't have to worry about me. Just tell me the next time you're hurt."  
"I did tell you."  
"You didn't tell me you had cracked ribs! We were riding hard!"  
"We needed to ride hard, and I could be overreacting. They're probably just bruised."  
"Steve. You're not overreacting. Remember what your last words were that time that you passed out from blood loss? 'Don't freak out, it's not as bad as it looks, I swear.'"  
"Will you ever forget that?"  
"Nope. Someday I'll tell your grandchildren."  
"You're terrible." Steve cracked the door to his room and checked for zombies before stepping in. He left a torch burning, but sometimes Lord Heron sneaked in and put it out. He didn't like to keep torches burning. They had inherited a large but almost used up supply of everburning torches along with the house. Everburning torches were not literally infinite, however, and most were already approaching the stage of needing to be replaced. Lord Heron was a cheapskate and didn't see any point in lighting parts of the house that weren't being used at the moment. It had taken Steve a long time to adjust to the constant growling in the place when he'd arrived, especially with the recent zombie-related trauma that had sent him there in the first place. Herobrine was proud of him. As a child he'd expected him to turn out a coward. Steve hadn't. "Guess I'll see you in the morning," said Steve. "Goodnight."  
"Night."

Steve was on his rug in the morning. Herobrine wasn't surprised. This house gave him nightmares too.

 **A/N: I'm on a road trip with family and we just listened to two dramatizations of Louis L'Amour stories in a row. So the main characters had to ride into town on horseback. They just had to. Thank you to Chick Bowdrie, Texas Ranger, for the scrappy roan.  
I need to write a kind-of sequel, now, explaining what on earth Hallai was talking about.  
Those who have read it may have noticed a vague nod in the general direction of Not a Slash Fic here. Which, I've just realized, I have never added dialogue paragraphing to. Pff. Who cares.  
It's sad Steve never got to have grandkids. He and Herobrine would have been the best pair of doddery old great-uncles ever. Steve would try to tell the same funny story for the ten hundredth time and get distracted by something happening outside the window and then be confused for two hours trying to remember what he was saying. And he'd get in trouble for constantly feeding the children cookies. Herobrine would wake everyone up at three in the morning shooting off explosive magic for no apparent reason, yelling about them Notchdarnded pirates. "Go back to sleep, children, it's just Uncle Herobrine. ****_Dear! You didn't tell me he was like this when you suggested staying with them! We're leaving tomorrow or you're raising these children yourself, understand?_** **"**


End file.
